Jareen wakes in the cold of the night and pokes Arakan awake.
"Those children must be sacrifices headed to Draj. Usually they use slaves, but sometimes the stars point out specific individuals to be sacrificed. They could well be such. The templars aren't likely to want everyone to know that though."
Arakan just stares at the pestering old man, his eyes half-lidded, "Okay?... isn't that where we were going anyways?" He tries to shake the fog out of his head. "If they are slaves, there isn't much we can do about it now. We'll have some time with them on the road, maybe we can learn a little more... in the morning. Now go back to sleep, so I can too."
"Depends how much we want to piss off the Templars of Drej and their king. These are special sacrifices, not the run of the mill ones. Do we want to de-rail a sorcerer-king's plans? If not, then we leave them. If they are connected with the other recent astronomical events, which they could well be. Do we kill them now and hope that stops another sky-rock impact?"
"Just something to think on." Jareen rolls over, and soon is snoring.
The adventurers sleep the sleep of the innocent - or at least the extremely tired. In the morning they are roused by the sound of shouts and running feet. Through their bleariness - especially Arakan and Jareen, who were discussing the ethics of slavery in the night - they hear that something bad has happened.
"What - all of them?"
"Yeah, dead. Everyone around the campfire. Just lying there, stiff and cold, like they just died in their sleep in the night. Except for Vik. He was ripped up like some wild animal got him. And the weirdest thing - his head was ripped off and gone, and someone else's head, don't know whose, was lying next to his body instead."
"But you're sure it was Vik?"
"Yeah - he had that tattoo on his chest, you know the one. But no head. Really creeped me out, the whole thing."
"Seems like that sorta thing has been going around here." Gart says to no one in particular.
"Which camp was this?" Jareen calls over to the ones discussing it.
Later, when the group is alone "I think we should share the night watching with Th'kal for a while. One of us awake with him at all times should make us a good deal safer than the rest of the groups around."
The one speaking waves vaguely over in the direction of the camp perimeter.
The mysterious deaths cause consternation for a while, but in the end Tawfik takes control. With nothing else to be done about it now, he prepares the caravan to move on. Those who died with Vik were mostly other guards, so he posts more guard details. Due to the reduced numbers, he redistributes the guards into smaller units. As part of this, Irivis is split off from the rest of the adventuring band and assigned to a different team.
To the remaining group Tawfik says, "You lot are on point again. This desert is full of mysteries and monsters that can barely be understood by man. All we can do is keep moveng and hope they don't find us. Keep your eyes open, and report anything suspicious. And don't overdo it - some of you will be on guard duty tonight now we are shorthanded."
"More, duties? Does that mean more pay when we get out of this?"
"No, it doesn't. Get going."
"Typical."
Jareen spends more time pondering the thing that is apparently swapping heads than really keeping lookout, relying on his companions to do that part for the moment.
He barely bats an eyelid at Irvis leaving for the other side of the caravan, expecting to see her back any time.
But the killings are so bizarre and mysterious, and Jareen cannot help but wonder if hold-overs from these long-ago wars still stalk the wastelands, still executing their instructions to despoil, terrorise and kill.
The adventurers are on point once more. The path at first is steep, leading down a ridge before levelling out at the bottom of a dry wadi that leads ultimately out of the mountains into the tablelands beyond. But before that, they must negotiate the Valley of Echoes, a steep-sided valley where the natural accoustics of the rocky wasll distort sounds. The scuffing of their mounts' feet on the gravelly ground is oddly loud, and their voices rebound from the canyon walls.
Then, from somewhere in the valley, they hear a voice calling. "Furio Tembo! Fury of the Tembo! Haw haw haw!"
"Oh for... Not again."
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Arakan misses the connection between the name of the deceased and the voice calling out. He just rolls his eyes at the thought of having to hear the guy going on and on about Furio and the stupid arena. He is about to tell Furio to see if he can get the guy to shut-up, and notices the odd confused, more than the usual confused, look on the Mul's face. "What am I missing?"
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Gart turns to Furio. "Friend of yours?"
f*~% ebola.
"It almost sounds like Arakan's mom?...."
The echoing calls die away.
Did it sound like that Vik guy?
"Shall we? Head forward, to where my biggest fan, now beheaded, seems to taunt me in the echoing vale?"
The adventurers ride forward into the valley. But they see no one and nothing besides the dessicated bushes clinging to the steep canyon walls.
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Perception
"If anybody sees anything,......" says Furio deadpan, "give a heads up...." immediately regrets his attempt at gallows humor.
Furio spots nothing.
Gart looks around, in particular for some sort of blood trail. Necks and heads tend to bleed a lot.
Gart doesn't see anything either.
The advance party move onwards cautiously. The canyon winds so that it is difficult to see more than a few hundred yards. They round another bend and find a surprise - a figure crouching, studying the ground intently. It straightens up on spotting the approaching riders, revealing a towering half-giant dressed in careworn, dusty leather armour and carrying a ten-foot spear. Beads, fetishes and charms hang from necklaces and bracelets. From under heavy brows the half-giant coolly watches the adventurers approach.
The half-giant plants the butt of the spear in the ground, the other end straight up in an offering of peace. With the other hand it waves at the approaching riders.
As they approach, the giant looks them over. "You heard it too?" it asks those in the front of the group.
Jareen looks at the new comer with a faint dislike, as though he's tasted a sharp fruit, and with a large degree of distrust.
"Heard what? What are you doing out here?"
"The head-taker's yell. It is out here somewhere. I am here to kill it."
"Head taker? What do you know of that?"
"It killed many of my village. The few that remained left to find other tribes. I remain."
"How do we know you're not the head taker?" says Furio, rudely trying to suss this new kid up.
"Furio here is blunter even than I, but he makes a good point. How do we know that's the head you had this morning, or yesterday? What exactly happened to those in your village that died?"
"No cuts on my neck. In my village, head-taker took heads, traded them. Sometimes man was found with woman's head, woman found with man's head, half-giant found with small-folk head."
"Any reason why? We hunt this thing, although you seem to have better reason. What do you know about the headtaker?"
"We have no cuts either. You are a long way from anywhere though. How long have you been tracking this thing? Days, weeks, months?"
"Only that it killed most of my tribe. And it is in this area. No reason I know. Could be some defiler's pet for all I know."
To the old man's question, he replies, "one moon."
"I like the look of this guy." to the group; "hey, giant man......you want we can hunt this head taker together. Pool resources like."
"That would be good. Have you seen head-taker's work? Hard to track. Different feet every time."